


Threads

by artificer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychoanalysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificer/pseuds/artificer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone can hold him together, it's Hannibal.</p><p>Will reflects on his sessions with Hannibal and mixes metaphors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threads

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a companion piece to "Pull," but can easily be read alone.

Will isn’t sure when he went from resolutely protesting that he is not Dr. Lecter’s patient to willingly visiting Hannibal’s office. Or when he started thinking of Dr. Lecter as Hannibal. It happened quickly and unconsciously, like falling asleep (in theory, at least). A few weeks ago, he’d only ever heard the name Dr. Lecter from Alana; he never imagined they’d meet, let alone… do whatever it is they’re doing. Now he sees Hannibal more days than not, whether for work, shared meals, or sessions that are therapy in everything but name.

Like today. He’s sitting across from Hannibal in this absurdly opulent office, wondering if he can even call it that. Office seems inadequate, mundane, bourgeois. Study? Library? Still not quite right. And Hannibal, with his plaid bespoke suit and paisley tie, who is miles beyond mundane and bourgeois, is studying him with that uncanny intensity. He thinks Hannibal could cut him open with that scalpel-sharp gaze alone.

There’s a reason Will doesn’t like therapy. At first, way back when he was an awkward teenager and his tearful parents thought they could still _fix_ him, he thought therapy was like lifting the hood of the car. He could look underneath, see the moving parts, diagnose the problem, and be done. It was a tune-up; it didn’t change the car itself. He soon saw the fallacy in that metaphor. Therapy is nothing like that, at least not if change is the goal. In reality, it’s more like gutting the car for parts, trying to build something new with half the pieces, something that isn’t even a car anymore. Doing therapy right would mean gutting himself, throwing away patterns of thought—defense mechanisms—he wouldn’t recognize himself without. It would mean destroying himself, in the hopes that the new model will be better than the original. But Will doesn’t want to break himself open after working so hard for so many years just to hold himself together. His mind is already a lumpy package wrapped in crepe paper, jagged edges, pulled together by cheap white string.

If it falls apart, if he has to face the monsters hidden inside—

He can’t. He won’t go there. If he did, he couldn’t come back.

This isn’t to say he’s fragile or weak. Unstable, obviously, but it takes work to still a spinning top. He tries so hard to be good, to do the right thing, to resist the darkness, and he thinks (hopes) that’s half the battle.

His mind is like his grandmother’s sewing drawer, post-dementia. Dark and cluttered, full of needles, loose buttons, and tangles of thread. Those tangles of thread are his thoughts, his nightmares, all scattered and jumbled. Messy. Over-active. Brilliant, yes, but dangerous.

Teacup. Mongoose. Monster. Twenty metaphors, and none of them fit. It’s a game of Duck, Duck, Goose, but he’s only chasing a ghost of himself.

And Hannibal, with his scalpel-sharp gaze, who looks at Will as if he wants to dissect him, could easily unleash the monster. These not-therapy sessions could be his undoing, or they could be his salvation. It’s difficult to read the future when half the pages are missing. There’s a promise in this, in these meetings; anticipation is building, but toward what he can’t tell.

A way out of dark places. A map. A lantern. A paddle. Or maybe Hannibal isn’t his paddle so much as his spool—a place to untangle his nightmares.

Hannibal, who power-clashes without shame. Hannibal, who has drawn laughter and eye contact out of him. Hannibal, who might be dangerously close to breaching his carefully constructed forts. Of course Hannibal was right; of course Will finds him interesting. His gaze flickers to Hannibal’s hands, smooth but calloused, manicured nails. They’re strong hands, deceptive, but strong.

While it’s true that Hannibal could cut Will open, the blade is double-edged. Because truth be told, if anyone can hold him together, it’s Hannibal.


End file.
